Page 173 of Anathema

Just in case, I’d worn the whistle, the one that’d summoned Raivox. Rykaia had tried arguing that it took away from the simplicity of the scorpion chain, but I’d insisted. I liked having a link to him.

She stepped through first, I followed after, and the two of us found ourselves in a small copse of trees just outside of a stony wall, where a half-dozen guards stood before a gate. Another half-dozen flanked either side of them.

Brushing the dried leaves from my skirt, I asked, “Why not just cleave into the ballroom and avoid the guards all together?”

She snorted. “Are you familiar with wards? There is no cleaving into the ballroom. We’re lucky to have gotten as close as we did.”

We stepped over the bracken and sauntered up to the gate.

“Name,” the guard said in a flat tone, eyeing the two of us up and down.

With a giggle, Rykaia set her hand against the moody guard’s arm, as he peered down at the names. “Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis,” she said as easily and fluidly as if they were our real names.

He waved a hand over the back of hers, and a glowing heraldry appeared. With a flick of his fingers, he urged me to lift my hand, and when I did, he left the same mark.

Without a word, he stepped aside and gave a respectful bow. “Ladies.”

She must’ve read his mind as he’d skimmed over the names.

I studied the strange marking that didn’t fade when I rubbed my finger across it, and Rykaia placed a hand over mine, stopping the action. “It’ll be gone by evening’s end,” she assured.

The two of us entered what seemed to have been the outer court, given the stables that stood off to the side. The walled enclosure was filled with elegantly dressed guests, all of whom wore cicada and stag masks, and I searched what little I could see of their faces for Zevander. Not likely that he’d have exposed the lower half of his face, though. My guess was, he’d be the only one not wearing the blind masks.

Tiny flames flickered in glass bulbs strung across the courtyard, with purple and silver banners strewn between them and matching streamers that fell from the sky. A massive purple, black, and silver striped tent stood off to the side of it, flanked by two smaller tents on either side, from where the sound of music drifted out over the crowd. I visually devoured the mystically enchanting ambience, eyes feasting on every beguiling detail. So enthralled, I hardly noticed the masked faces that turned toward us as we passed.

The delicate shoes I wore clacked against the stones of the bridge, when we crossed the moat. I peered over the edge to see a black serpent beast slithering beneath the walkway. Gasping, I tensed at its size, and Rykaia grabbed my arm.

“It’s a Koryn. Stay away from the edge,” she warned.

Another stony wall stood guarded by soldiers. Rykaia lifted her hand with the glowing mark, and I did the same. The two guards nodded, allowing us passage.

We finally reached the inner courtyard, where more guests mingled about, and I scanned over the gorgeously kempt gardens, stark white statues set among the tall bushes like ghostly animals, and a beautiful fountain. Another purple and black tent stood propped open, and I could just make out bodies within, donned in elaborately colorful, tight-fitting suits, performing mesmerizing acrobatics. There were flame-throwers, and those dressed as puppets on strings, magicians, and men on stilts that walked among the crowd. The air was rich with the scent of mors mead and ginger pops, roasted nutkerns, and savory meat pies—foods I recognized from the few fairs and festivals that would pass through Foxglove Parish. An entrancing flurry of activity that ravished my senses, as Rykaia led me up a stone staircase, lined with flickering torches and snarling gargoyles, to a set of colossal-sized doors propped open either side of three guardsmen.

“Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis,” Rykaia said with a curtsy.

A man in a silver, brocade jacket and trousers, wearing a white stag mask shuffled us inside. “I present Lady Anadara and Lady Sivarekis!”

A few heads turned, setting my nerves aflame, but most remained engaged in conversation. Descending the staircase into the ballroom, I leaned into Rykaia and whispered, “What happens when those two guests turn up?”

A smile curved her lips. “It will be a most unfortunate situation for them.”

My conscience withered, as she took my hand and led me to a dimly-lit grand room, with stone pillars and another fountain. Vines hung from the ceiling, draped around candelabras, from which beautiful, white streamers dangled alongside diamonds. White roses decorated the room, along with sparkling white branches in vases that stood like eidolic silhouettes in the shadowy corners.

Masked women dressed in shimmering chiffon fabrics, their breasts clearly seen through the thin material, and men clad in only masks and silver loincloths danced sensually around the guests. A few of them danced with each other, in the motions that reminded me of the night I’d found Uncle Riftyn and Aleysia together, their hips thrusting against one another, hands groping. My breath caught in my throat, and a tingle of arousal stirred in my belly as I watched them.

The room seemed divided into groups, with those bearing blond hair and bronze skin on one side, those with dark hair and pale skin on the other.

“Solassions and Lunasier,” Rykaia said, as if reading my thoughts.

Perhaps she was.

I had to remember that annoying ability of hers.

She chuckled, releasing my arm. “You’re worried I’ll know what you’re thinking when you see my brother.”

“I’m thinking no such thing.”

As she reached for my arm, I yanked it quickly away, and she laughed harder.

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